Up is Down
by ALC Punk
Summary: Stargate: Atlantis and Battlestar Galactica: 2003. Elizabeth Weir is tired of being a princess in a tower. Sam Anders is just looking for a good time. Not related in any way to Wraith and Pony Show.


Disclaimer: Not mine.

Fandoms: SG: Atlantis/Battlestar Galactica 2003 Pairing: Elizabeth Weir/Sam Anders Length: 1,900+ Rating: R? Porn. Language.  
Notes: There is really no timeline on this, but it is NOT a part of the Wraith and Pony Show universe. 

**Up is Down**by ALC Punk!

She hasn't laughed like this in longer than she really cares to remember. Of course, Elizabeth is pretty certain that she wouldn't be laughing like this if she weren't just a little bit drunk. For one thing, the stories Sam Anders is telling are horrible. And honestly, if she were sober, she would be telling him that.

But the ambrosia and Lantian wine have been flowing freely all night, and she hasn't had a night to call her own in way too damned long. And the company is nice.

Sam throws his head back, and laughs at something. She has no idea what, she just enjoys watching him. He looks like an idiot when he laughs.

Not joining him, though she's chuckling a little, Elizabeth realizes that the world is tilting gently.

It occurs to her that it might actually be time to sleep. She's been up for more than forty-eight hours, she has to get up in the morning to run a frakking--to borrow the colonial vernacular--city. And she has to do it without being tired or hungover.

The latter might be a problem, she thinks. And then giggles, because that is probably the stupidest thing she's thought in a while.

Another shot appears in front of her, and Sam Anders is grinning at her, like he knows something she doesn't. And Elizabeth's rational brain breaks free. Her hand covers the shot, and she shakes her head, "I've had enough. And I should really put myself to bed."

Sam nods, "I should probably join you."

For a moment, Elizabeth wonders if he said that on purpose. But his expression doesn't change, and he doesn't seem to be aware of exactly what he said. She decides to ignore the innuendo, and stands, chuckling, "The question is, can you walk?"

He laughs and gets to his feet. "I can walk. The question is, can I find my way to the quarters you assigned me?"

Grinning, Elizabeth heads for the doorway out of the mess hall. "I'll give you directions."

They're laughing as they walk, both drunk, and certainly far more carefree than Elizabeth has been in a while. She remembers commiserating about being a leader, at some point. About how sometimes, tactics and diplomacy were both useless. That was earlier, though.

Walking close together, Elizabeth has the fleeting impression that Sam would sling his arm around her--if he didn't think she'd bite.

Probably, she would.

Still, it's nice to feel his warmth close by. He's a solid presence on her left, tall and well-built in a way that most of the marines are--not that she allows herself to consider the marines as nicely-muscled. As their leader, she's not supposed to think of things like that. And if she acted on them, they'd probably consider her a slut, or worse.

Elizabeth shoves the serious thoughts away, concentrating on Sam's laughter and good company.

When they reach her door, she gestures, "This is me."

A grin lights his eyes, "Going to give me directions?"

"The barracks are two floors down, and the stairs are at the end of this corridor," Elizabeth directs, amused.

He bows, over-balances and catches himself against the wall, laughing at his own clumsiness. "Thank you."

The thing is, Elizabeth thinks, she could go to bed now. She could curl up, cold and alone, and maybe employ her fingers. Or maybe not. She might be coordinated enough for that. Or she could take a chance. Dr. Beckett has given the entire colonial fleet a clean bill of health, and she's had all of her shots. And he's right there. Really, it would be a pity not to at least try.

Surprise is on her side. She moves into his personal space, pushing up on her tiptoes and against the wall. "Sam?" Her question is breathed into the tiny space between their lips.

He tastes like alcohol and smells like sweat. Elizabeth leans into his kiss, almost shivering when his hands come up to cup her face gently. The kiss is actually pretty short, and they both pull back. Elizabeth drops back to flat feet and looks at him, "You walked me home, I figured I should get a good night kiss."

"Trying to take advantage of my inebriated state, Dr. Weir?" His voice is light and teasing.

Elizabeth swallows, "Do you want me to?" She regrets the words the instant they leave her mouth and starts to pull back, "I'm sorry, I--"

His mouth stops her from saying anything more. This time, the kiss isn't short, and it isn't innocent.

::God::, she thinks as he breaks the kiss and studies her. "Do that again," she whispers. There are parts of her tingling that have been largely quiet for the last two years. Maybe it's the alcohol. Maybe it's that he's confident and attractive. Either way, she doesn't care.

"Out here?" His eyebrows go up, and his lips smirk, "Why, Dr. Weir, I didn't think you'd ask something like that."

Actually, he has a point. Elizabeth backs away, yanks open her door and shoves him into her room. She follows a moment later, slamming the door. "I'd prefer not to air all of my affairs in public."

"Good idea." His hands find her again, and he pulls her into his arms, bending to kiss her.

Elizabeth blames the alcohol for her loss of time while kissing Sam Anders. That, and his incredible mouth and tongue, and the way his body feels against hers, even fully-clothed.

It isn't until his hands slide under her shirt that he stops. "Elizabeth." The hands stay where they are, but he sounds uncertain, "I should go."

"Do you want to?" She swallows, because if he does, she might just cry about it. Or be really annoyed.

A breath escapes him. "No. But I don't want you to feel that--"

"Sam." Her hands tug at his shirt, "Shut up and get naked."

The uncertainty vanishes as he chuckles. His hands disappear so he can pull his shirt off, then they move to tug at hers. Elizabeth elbows him when she goes for her bra, and Sam steps back to undress without help. It seems safer that way, and she has to admit that it saves on elbows, knees and stomped toes.

Standing barefoot and naked, Elizabeth realizes it's too dark to actually see anything. Her fingers move along the wall and find the panel by the door. Soft light springs up, and she sucks in a breath.

He is absolutely gorgeous.

Okay, so maybe that's a stupid thing to think. But it's what goes through her mind as she moves and wraps her arms around him.

Skin to skin is better than clothed. Elizabeth starts losing track of things. Sam's mouth is on her shoulder, then sucking at her neck. His hands--nice, big, capable hands--are carefully caressing and touching her--almost too gently. She squirms against them, breath ragged.

"Bed." She whispers, nipping his shoulder.

A groan escapes him, and he lets her lead him to the bed, then makes her sit and drops to his knees in front of her. He kisses her again, slipping between her legs, hands on her thighs.

Elizabeth lets him do what he wants, arching into his mouth when he sucks on her nipple. Fingers in his hair, she tries to hold him still, the sensation causing her to ache. His hand comes up, cupping and massaging her other breast.

Leaning back to give him more access, she moans softly, pressing her legs against his sides.

His mouth drifts to her stomach, and he spends time licking and sucking and nipping at her skin until she's had more than enough.

"Sam."

"Busy."

"Sam." She sits up, tugging at his hair. "This is nice, but not what I need."

He grumbles.

Ignoring him, very certain of what she wants, Elizabeth twists and leans over to retrieve one of the condoms that all Atlantis personnel are issued with. She doesn't get to use hers, much. Looking down between them, she smirks at the obvious sign of his own arousal.

Pushing at his shoulders, she joins him on the floor, kneeling and almost straddling his legs. With deft movements, she unrolls the condom, enjoying the way he swallows and gasps.

"It gets better," she whispers, kissing him and then clambering back up onto the bed. Propping herself on an elbow, she holds out a hand to him. "C'mere."

His eyes close, and he swallows, and then he moves.

Arms around him, legs cradling him, Elizabeth lets out a sigh as he thrusts into her. His hands tilt her, cupping her ass and changing the angle. It makes her moan softly.

His mouth is on her throat as he moves slowly within her. It's a rhythm that works, but it's a torturous feeling. Dragging it out and building it up until she's digging her nails into his shoulder, mouth open. Sweat keeps them from sticking together, gives him the advantage--and he's so much larger than her, anyway.

"Sam," she gasps, tugging at his shoulders, trying to break his rhythm and speed things up. "Faster. Please." The last is gulped back on a moan as he shifts, speeding up as she's requested.

It's more than enough, far more than enough, and she loses herself as the orgasm hits. She can taste the ambrosia from earlier, smell the sweat and stale perfume on her bedding.

He keeps moving, letting her ride out the tremors and gasping himself.

It won't take much, she decides, muscles lax and lazy. It will take only a little more, and Sam Anders will lose control. Elizabeth presses up against him, then wraps her legs around his waist in a supreme effort of will.

Her fingers slide down his back, grabbing his ass.

There's no point in being verbal about it. He speeds up again, almost grinding against her before he climaxes, mouth buried in the side of her neck.

Elizabeth wraps her arms around him, nuzzling the side of his face. "Better?"

"Mmph." He kisses her shoulder, and then heaves a sigh before rolling off of her and to the side to deal with the condom.

Moving onto her side, Elizabeth watches his back, fascinated by the play of muscles. "You don't have to go."

Sam looks back over his shoulder and smiles at her, and there's something strange in his gaze. "I'm not sure I can find my way home, anyway."

Getting out of bed on her side, she yawns and then tugs the blankets free. "I'm not giving you directions again." She moves to the door and turns the lights off before carefully picking her way back to the bed, dodging their clothing. If she weren't so tired, she'd make sure it was all folded so it would be wrinkle-free in the morning.

A chuckle escapes him, and he climbs under the covers on his side and holds an arm out to her, "I didn't think I needed directions."

Laughing, she slides into bed again, moving so she's against his side. A sigh escapes her, "You're nice and warm." She snuggles into him. If there was one thing she'd missed about not having Simon around--or any other lover--it was the way men exuded heat. There were nights that she never got to sleep properly simply because she was so cold.

Not that this was a permanent arrangement.

"Nice to know," he says, amused. His arm slides around her and he relaxes. "Good night, Elizabeth."

Patting his hip, she murmurs, "Night, Sam."

-f-


End file.
